


Rise in Perfect Light

by Pervymonk



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Conflict, F/M, Im real bad at beginnings, Mental Illness, Slow Burn, i didn't make an outline for this at four in the morning, more a series of connected drabbles, ridiculous backstory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-17 02:58:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14823918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pervymonk/pseuds/Pervymonk
Summary: She was just a simple farmer. So why were his feelings so complicated?Shane brought Jas to Stardew Valley to hide; hide from her parents death, and those still looking for the two of them. Shane spends his days drowning in darkness. But the farmer bursts into their lives, throwing open the drapes and letting the sunshine in.The only problem is that she isn't the only one who finds them.





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Birthday Pizza 

_Though my heart may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light. I have loved the stars too truly to be fearful of the night._ -Sarah Williams

Shane had a routine-work, drink, sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat. Though days often bled into one another, he had various objectives-Put 10000 gold in Jas’ college fund, make sure to get home both drunk and undetected, don’t drown in the fish pond-little things like that. It was a shitty routine, but it was his, and it was predictable. 

The farmer was anything but predictable. 

“Hiya, Shane!” she chirps. He doesn’t bother suppressing his groan, the beer echoing it back to him. 

“Haven’t I been rude enough to you yet?” He grouses. She smiles, that same dumb, dazzling smile as always, and answers, 

“Dunno. You could always try harder.” Before he can answer, she holds out a box to him. 

“Here,” she says. His eyes narrow in suspicion. 

“What is it?” 

“For you,” she says simply. When he doesn’t take it, she rolls her eyes and opens it. Inside is a pizza, hot peppers sinking into melted cheese. “Happy birthday!” 

“You remembered my birthday?” he asks, gingerly taking it from her. “I’m…” when he can’t think of anything biting to say, he lamely finishes with, “…impressed.” She beams, looking foolish, and nods. 

“I hope you like it!” Before he can say anything further, she catches Emily’s eye. “Oh, hey, is that a new dress?” He eyes the pizza as if it were meant to poison him. He’s unsure of everything, but especially the farmer. Most people couldn’t stand to look at him and yet, here she was, giving him pizza on his birthday. He cautiously takes a bite-it’s perfectly delicious, because of course it fucking is. He relishes the burn of the peppers on the top of his mouth. 

In sullen silence, he eats the pizza, and watches as the farmer visits with everyone in the tavern. She doesn’t look at him again, not even once.


	2. Reflections

Farmer Flor. 

She likes it when the townspeople call her that. It’s a lot like ‘Farmer Gene’, her grandfather, and it makes her feel as if she’s carrying on his legacy. 

She looks out the acres of farmland she inherited, now in disrepair, and sighs. Well, she’s trying to uphold his legacy, anyway. But where to start? There was so much to do-she felt overwhelmed even with the small plot of land she cleared, growing parsnips and cauliflower. Sometimes, she considers giving up-city girl like her? She’d only spent summers here, half-learning what Grandpa Gene had to teach her. She should have paid more attention. 

Should’ve, would’ve, could’ve. 

When she moved her entire life to Stardew Valley, her doctor had been apprehensive. He’d used words like ‘manic’ and ‘impulsive’. She’d done more damage with lesser actions; how could following her grandfather be anything other than right? She’d been slowly dying in that cubicle at JojaMart; never seeing the sun, living paycheck to paycheck. The 450 gold she’d earned from her first patch of parsnips meant more to her than endless JojaChecks, because they’d been something she’d done with her own two hands. She thought of the painter, the one who suffered as she did, who painted stars and sunflowers and took his own life because he could no longer see the sun. 

She could see the sun here again. 

When she left Zuzu City, she’d been friendless-half a result of her own actions and half the result of her disorder. No one wanted to be friends with an emotional rollercoaster. But she had modern chemistry, and country living, and new people who didn’t know a thing about her. 

_I don’t know you. Why are you talking to me?_

There was Emily, vibrant flower child who made her own clothes and loved gemstones. There was Sam, who loved music more than air. Leah, artistic and bright who painted the world in her image. Elliot, who chased dreams and splattered words on a page in an effort to create something beautiful. Clint, who used his age and profession as a shield but loved as deeply as anyone. 

_You again? How many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone?_

And then there was Shane. The others at least feigned politeness, and if they didn’t like her, they were nice enough to hide it. Not Shane. He’s let her know how he’d felt from the get go. She should really let bygones be bygones but something kept drawing her back. It wasn’t that he defied definition-she felt she could define him quite well, if she gave into a fit of certain pique. She felt camaraderie; Shane was who she’d been back in Zuzu City, if a little more explosive. 

But she’d seen him with Jas-she’d been foraging by the community center and saw them at the park. He’d laughed, pushing the girl on the swing and calling her sweetpea. He’d seemed, if not happy, at least content. She’d seen his smile and, absurdly, thought ‘there you are.’ 

He was like a spring onion, she thought. Bitter on the outside, probably sweet on the inside. 

She’d like to be his friend but then again, she’d like to be everyone’s friend. 

New beginnings. Maybe not only for her.


	3. Flowers are Obnoxious

Chapter Three: Flowers are Obnoxious 

“UNCLE SHANE!” Jas’ joy filled yell echoes throughout the ranch house. 

“I’m getting dressed!” he yells back, pulling on a white button up Marnie had starched for him. He doesn’t really want to go to the flower dance, but he’d promised. He may be a piece of shit but he doesn’t break promises to Jas, not if he can help it. He takes several swigs of beer to help with his hangover, gulping it down as his head pounds. He sneaks into the bathroom, furtively looking up and down the hall, to swish a cup of mouthwash around in his mouth. He shuts the door, leaning his forehead against it as his vision swims slightly. 

He opens the bathroom door to see Jas bouncing on the heels of her feet, a wide smile showing the gap in her two front teeth. She’s wearing a pink dress with white ruffles, one Marnie made, and she lunges for his arm. 

“Are you ready? Are you ready?” 

“I’m ready, sweetpea.” _Calm down_ , he thinks but he won’t sour her excitement with his bad attitude. She’s been looking forward to this all Spring. 

With Jas holding hands with Shane and Marnie, they walk through the fields to the flower dance. Jas runs off from them once, to scoop up a group of dandelions, and she gives one to each of them. Marnie laces hers through her braid with a smile; Shane puts his in his front pocket. 

Once there, Jas hides behind his leg. He absently pats her hair until she sees Vincent, then she’s off like a shot. He sighs, half in relief, and pours himself some punch. He watches the villagers, dressed in their Sunday best, mill around, absently thinking the punch would taste better spiked. 

He’s not relaxed, but he isn’t as on edge as he usually is. Maybe that’s why he isn’t as scandalized as everyone else when the farmer shows up in dirty overalls and that stupid straw hat she won at the egg festival. 

More likely, he just doesn’t give a fuck; she could be dressed to the nines and he still wouldn’t want her there. 

He moves closer to a tree, decorated in garlands, to hide from the farmer. She shyly stays on the edges of the crowd and he thinks, with a hint of vindictiveness, not so bubbly now. She’s looking around with the desperation of someone lost at sea; there’s no one to talk to, no one who isn’t partnered up or hiding. 

He watches as Jas walks up to her, one hand fisted in her dress and the other around a dandelion. He can’t tell if she says anything but she holds a flower out to the farmer, who squeals with glee and takes it, carefully lacing through the button of her overalls. She pats it, grinning at Jas, who offers her a shy smile. 

_Huh_ , he thinks. 

Hayley, twirling her hair and talking to Alex, stops dramatically. 

“There’s a weird smell,” she says a little too loudly. Shane watches as she eyes the farmer, her face scrunching up. “Been working on the farm, huh?” she says, with something between a sneer and sympathy across her face. Absurdly, Shane wants to defend the farmer. Of course she’s been working on the farm; he sees the sweat across her brow and the dirt smudged on her cheek. Yellow hay contrasts against the ridiculous pink of her hair, matching her dandelion. But that work wasn’t a _bad_ thing. Hayley probably wouldn’t know hard work if it bit her on her perfect ass. 

But the farmer, ever oblivious, smiles and nods vigorously, as if she’s happy to be included. 

“I just had Robin build a chicken coop,” she chirps. “I have four chickens! Kelli loves chin scritches! She’s taken to reaching out for my wrist. You have to watch out for Pellurt, though. She can be feisty. I had to chase her out of my crops; she’s a bit of a free spirit.”

“That’s, uh, cool, Farmer Flor,” Alex says, in a strained effort of politeness. She nods serenely, and says, 

“Chickens are cool.” Shane glares at a particularly obnoxious flower garland, screaming blues and oranges, and refuses to be endeared. 

He moves to the refreshment table, hoping to avoid her for the duration of the dance. He finds the spicy food immediately, savoring the burn. 

“Hiya, Shane!” He groans around his food, eyes rolling over to meet the gaze of the farmer. 

“This green stuff is spicy,” he offers awkwardly, rubbing his mouth. Her eyes light up and, wordlessly, she takes a huge scoop with a tortilla chip. She makes a noise that Shane refuses to remember later. With a mouthful of food, she smiles, all green teeth. 

“Gmuff,” she says. 

“Gross, swallow your food,” he says. She swallows with a gulp and beams. 

“Good stuff!” Suddenly, the music changes and the partners for the flower dance line up. It’s such a strange, rustic ritual; dancing in two lines with a chosen partner. He vaguely remembers Marnie talking about the significance of it-some romantic drivel. She’d sighed, lamenting that she wouldn’t have a partner. 

He kind of hates Lewis for that sigh, filled with sadness and longing. 

“Wanna dance?” the farmer asks, chewing another hot sauce flooded tortilla chip. 

“ _Fuck no_ ,” spills out of his mouth. She doesn’t look startled, only amused. 

“Yeah, me either,” she says nonchalantly, chewing absently. Shane watches the way her toe taps to the beat; she’s lying. She’d probably love to be out there dancing; it seemed like the sort of obnoxious, awful thing she’d like. _She probably asked everyone and got shot down_. 

He knows she doesn’t really want to dance with him. He doesn’t even entertain the idea, not even when he’s back home, drinking beer and playing videogames. He doesn’t wonder if dancing with the farmer would be bad, if she’d move with the same gracelessness he’d seen when she lugged her crops around town. He doesn’t think about the scent of hay clinging to her, noticeable even over the flowers that had been strewn across the field. He doesn’t think of her chickens, or the smile when she talked about them. 

He doesn’t even think of her at all.


	4. The Adventurer's Life

If the farm doesn’t work out, Flor thinks, she could always become an adventurer. 

She’d fallen in love with the mines almost from the first floor. She’d almost always find useful ore, and sometimes gemstones to donate to Gunter. The extras she’d sell for a nice profit. She’d been uncannily luckily. Gemstones were how she was able to afford her chickens, whom she adored. She couldn’t wait to get cows, and goats, and maybe even bunnies! The mines were the key to achieving those goals.

But while the mines were generous, they could be unforgiving too. 

She’d gotten more than her fair share of injuries. She constantly had to be on alert in the mines. Monsters lurked down there. Even in her wildest daydreams, sitting at her desk at JojaCorp, she never imagined being able to fight monsters. Things like this didn’t happen in the city; large populations of humans had a habit of snuffing out the magic in the world. But the valley was different; more than she ever dreamed existed here. She smiles to herself, shouldering her bag of ore and valuable gems. 

First farmer, then miner. Now monster slayer-she really was expanding her resume. 

All of the old friends she left behind wouldn’t even begin to believe her new life, even if they had still been speaking to each other. These were the sort of things delusions were made of but the weight of the rocks and the scent of the mines made it real. Plus, she had slime on her boots; tactile reminders of her glorious new reality. 

Her shoulder pops, reminding her of the physical pains of her new adventures. Of course-she wasn’t quite used to the adventurer’s life yet. Her body forced her to consider her limitations when her mind wanted to be limitless; she’d nearly come close to passing out from exhaustion once or twice in her passion to explore the mines. 

There was a bathhouse up the road, fed by a natural hot spring. Though it was raining, she’d rather be out in it than in the house. The mines were generous on rainy days. Besides, the hot water would feel divine in this weather. That could be just what she needed to get back on her feet.


	5. Punchline

Shane liked coming to the bathhouse when it was raining; the hot steam contrasted against the cold humidity of the rain. And, best of all, no one else made the trek in this kind of weather. 

He sighs, leaning his head back against the edge of the pool, a cold beer floating in his hand. Hours of repetitive stock work at the JojaMart takes its toll on his body; he’s constantly sore, fighting carpal tunnel. He idly rubs his lower back; it hurt the worse, ever since he injured it in his old gridball days. But he had rent to pay and Jas to think of: Nicholas didn’t make him her godfather for Shane to leave Jas unprovided for because of a few aches and pains. 

The thought of his old friend sours his mood, and he takes another drink to wash away the memory of him. He’d take care of Jas, make sure she had everything she needed. She wouldn’t want for anything. And here in the valley, she’d be safe. 

He startles at the sound of a door opening. A small squeal of delight, followed by a pink and yellow blur splashing into the water. No, he thinks. He watches the water for an instant before a figure bursts out of it, and he bites back his groan. 

It’s the farmer, sopping pink hair hanging down her back, and body clothed in a yellow bikini. She hasn’t noticed him, content to flop onto her back and deadman float. Her sigh echoes through the bathhouse and he shifts, unconsciously moving closer to her. He watches her float, the clear water blending all of her colors together like a watercolor painting. She has the beginnings of a farmer’s tan; her arms and face are a darker brown than the rest of her body. With a blush, he notices the tan extends to her cleavage as well, an imperfect oval contrasting against the brightness of her top. Her hair is spread out, reminding Shane of the mermaids in the stories Jas insists he tells her. She seems otherworldly, and bright, like something he could never touch. 

It’s only when he catches the green of her eyes that he realizes that she can see as much of him as he can of her. 

He recoils when he meets her eyes, imagining what she must see. Broad shoulders, large arms, but a soft middle; three years of nonstop drinking haven’t been kind to him. He’s covered in thick forests of black hair, from head to toe. He imagines his five o’clock shadow and the bags underneath his eyes and the fact he hasn’t brushed his hair in days. There’s too much of him, too much of everything; his hair, his gut, his bad attitude. Her eyes are wide, as if drinking him in to think of later. And it hits him; all of her interactions with him must be a joke, the lead up to some grand punchline he isn’t privy too. She’s bright and beautiful and larger than life; of course she must make fun of him with her city friends. Country bumpkin, coward, JojaTrash; he’s all of these things. He knows she can see him, all of his faults, his sins, wrapped in squishy, imperfect flesh. 

“Shane?” she says quietly, as if speaking to a spooked animal, and he hates her for her concern. He hates her cotton candy pink hair, and her small yellow bikini, and he hates the fact she always has a smile for him, no matter how rude he is. 

He hates her. He hates everything about her.

Abruptly, he swims to the side of the pull, viciously pulling himself out. He bangs his knee on the edge of the pool but doesn’t stop long enough to curse. As he pushes the door the changing room open, he ignores the soft lilt of his name being called. He ignores how his name feels on her lips.


	6. It Came From The Community Center, part 1

Flor stretches, rolling out of bed. Lewis wants to meet her in town today; something about the Community center. Then she’ll head out to the dock for some fishing: she thinks she might actually be getting better at it! 

But first, she has to attend to her daily chores. She feeds the chickens, giving Kelli her chin scratches. Pellurt almost sneaks out of the fence, and Flor can feel the chicken’s disdain as she carries her back to the coop. She collects the eggs, setting aside some to give to Marnie and others to make into mayonnaise. She pats the side of the machine she built as it runs and she stands, wiping sweat from her brow. After making sure the sprinklers were working, she starts the walk to town. 

It took an hour to get to town, 45 minutes if she walked briskly. No one in town had a car; the roads were too narrow for them. It put Flor off at first but she grew to enjoy the walks. It gave her time to think. Usually, her thoughts were about the farm; how long until the season ends, which crops to grow in the future. She also reflected on her readings; she’d brought an entire library’s worth of books about farming and machinery with her. 

Today, she thought about Shane. 

He’d seemed so unguarded in the bathhouse, looking at her. It was like he was curious, wanting to say something. Then they made eye contact and she watched the walls build up. He became the man she’d come to know, but, past the guardedness, she saw the emotions flicker across his eyes. First fear, then anger. 

Was he frightened of her? She could be a little intense, and just a tad overbearing, but she thought she’d done well. Maybe it was the pizza? Was it too much? She gave everyone a present on their birthday; the town bulletin board made it easy to remember. She wanted people to like her; she wanted Shane to like her. 

She blushes remembering his eyes traveling over her. The attention felt nice after endless greetings imploring her to go away. It hadn’t hurt that he’d been shirtless. She admired his broad chest and the dark hair covering it. He wasn’t built, even had a little pudge around the middle. He’d looked handsome with his wet hair hanging in front of his eyes. She groans, covering her face with her hand in embarrassment. Physically, he was absolutely her type and she probably freaked him out with her blatant staring. 

As if her thoughts summoned him, she sees him walking down the path in front of Pierre’s. She sighs before calling, 

“Hiya Shane!” She hears a soft swear from him as he turns to look at her. His gaze pins her in place before he rolls his eyes and, with a groan, gives her a small, half-hearted wave. 

“Leave me alone, farmer,” he says, without his usual spite, and she smiles. The wave is a sign of progress, at least. Even if it did look more like he was shooing her away. 

She continues on to the community center, stopping to harvest some salmonberries from the bushes. Lewis stands in front of the community center, looking at the dilapidated building somberly. 

“Hi, Flor,” he says. “Thanks for meeting me so early.” 

“Is it early?” she asks, only half joking. She’s been up since six tending to the farm. The sun hangs overhead, hinting at the warmness of the day and alluding to the approaching summer. He sighs, looking at the building. Flor follows a group of vines with her eyes, tracing them across the peeling shingles and into the building. Flowers grow on the roof. 

“This community center used to be the pride of the town. It was always busy.” 

“What happened to it?” Flor asks. 

“We ran out of funds when the war started, and we had to close it down. It’s in disrepair; now, look at it.” He shakes his head. “Morris down at JojaMart wants to buy it to use as a warehouse.” 

“Gross,” Flor says. 

“Well, if one more person gets a JojaMart membership, I’m just going to sell it to them,” he says. He pulls a ring of keys off of his belt. “Let’s go inside, then.” She follows him through the creaking door into the community center. 

It looks like its half building, half nature. Vines grow along the walls and Flor avoids patches of wildflowers pushing up between the rotted floor boards. Dust particles shine in the sunlight that pours through the cracks in the building and it smells like the forest. A small hut hides in the corner; Lewis catches her studying it.

“Something Linus built, probably,” he says. He looks around and sighs. “I’ve given this speech before but I’ve brought you here to see if you’ll help out. I’ve asked the other youths in town, but they’d rather spend time in front of the TV than engage with the community.” Flor raises an eyebrow at that; its more likely that clearing this place would be a near impossible task for a small and inexperienced group. Lewis continues to talk but Flor’s attention becomes consumed by the small bouncing green thing behind him. It’s not a slime; it’s much too composed for that. It chitters and she immediately looks to see if Lewis heard it. He continues talking, oblivious, and she thinks, 

Oh no. I’m having a delusional episode. 

“Hm? What do you see, Flor?” he asks. Wordlessly, she points. The little round ball chitters again, this time sounding like a laugh, and it winks before blinking out of existence. 

“Must be a rat,” Lewis says. “That can be your first duty when you have the time, right?” He turns back to her and it appears again. 

“Yeah,” she says. “Rats.” Totally rats and not a hallucinogenic break. 

She should really call her doctor.


	7. It Came From the Community Center, part 2

Flor sighs, dropping her fishing gear in the blue chest by the door. She sorts through the items she fished up; mostly fish this time, to her utter delight. She places what she wants to sell in the bin next to the house for Lewis to pick up and sorts through what she can use. She’d recently built a recycling machine so the trash actually became useful. 

She’s been putting off calling her doctor. She’d been doing so well-calling seemed like admitting she wasn’t trying as hard as she could to follow her treatment plan. She’d gotten overzealous with building machines for the farm and there were a couple of days when she’d forgotten to take her medicine. She’d had delusions of grandeur, and sometimes episodes where she couldn’t get out of bed but she very rarely hallucinated. It happened but only once or twice in the midst of bad episodes and even then, they’d only been auditory, not visual. 

She’d even gone back to the community center, once Lewis was gone. She’d seen more of those things and found a golden scroll, written in a language she couldn’t read. She’d touched it but it felt like air. As though it didn’t really exist. It hadn’t really helped with the small hope she held that she wasn’t hallucinating. 

She moves to go inside but the little red flag on her mailbox is standing up. She’d occasionally get letters (and presents) from the villagers. She opens the mailbox and pulls out a letter. It’s about the community center, and offers help with the ‘rat problem.’ It gives her directions to the tower west of Marnie’s ranch. It’s signed M. Rasmodious, with a flourish, and she reads it twice to make it sink in. The paper feels real, if flimsy, in her palm. She takes in a deep breath to ground herself. 

Okay. Someone else knew about those things. The paper feels thin, like old parchment. It smells musty, like cooked spinach. Her name is Florence Zulaney, it’s a Saturday, and she lives outside of Pelican Town in Stardew Valley. 

She remembers Marnie telling her about that tower; she’d said that strange noises coming from the tower that frightened her. She’d warned Flor away with a look of nervousness thrown to the west. 

Flor decides to visit the tower after her daily chores. 

It’s impressive, looking like something out of a fairy tale. Vines crawl up the sides and wildflowers grow wildly along the path to the steps. She walks up, raising her hand to knock. Before she can, a voice calls, 

“Come in, young Flor.” She debates turning and leaving right then, but the thought of the creatures she’d seen at the community center spurs her on. She had to know what they were. She cautiously opens the door, poking her head in. A stern looking man with a purple mustache and a black cowboy hat looks back at her. 

“Uh, hey,” she says. He motions her in and, as soon as she steps in, she feels the air shift. It’s almost like she’s in a different world; different from the farm, and even the mines. 

“I’ve seen much about you,” he says with a rumble. “The forest spirits have decided to reveal themselves to you.” 

“Forest spirits? Those little bean things?” she asks. He nods. He waves his hands, muttering an incantation, and one of the creatures shows up. It looks panicked, squawking. 

“You’ve seen these?” he asks. 

“It’s unhappy,” she says. “Let it go.” He stares at her, a deep stare that reminds her of a spoon scooping a melon, and he snaps his fingers. The creature disappears. 

“They won’t reveal themselves to me,” he says, sounding both pleased and jealous. 

“They have a language,” she tries, saying it like it’s a question. “ I saw a golden scroll that felt like air.” He nods, and it brings her no small amount of relief that he looks like he knows what she’s talking about. 

“Yes. You can’t read it, can you?” he asks. She shakes her head. He abruptly moves to a cauldron in the corner of the room, placing ingredients inside of it. The small room begins to smell like moss and algae, the scents of the forest. 

“Are you a wizard?” Flor asks, voice small and unsure. He nods, not even faltering in his actions as he continues to brew what she can only assume is a potion.

“Here,” he says, handing her a bubbling green concoction. “You need to be one with the forest to read the script of the Junimos.” 

“That’s what they’re called?” she asks, gingerly taking the cup. She eyes it critically and he says, almost impatiently, 

“There’s nothing in there you wouldn’t eat yourself.” She eyes it for a second longer, then shrugs. 

Drinking weird forest potions with wizards is totally something high functioning and rational adults do. She’s really, really glad the beans are real, and that they have a name. 

“Bottoms up,” she mutters, swallowing the potion in one swig. Immediately, she feels something coursing through her. She drops the cup and her eyes widen. She sees the forest, trees dancing and speaking their own language. She can smell the river, teeming with life. She can see root systems buried in the earth, reaching out for each other. 

“Holy shit,” she breathes. 

“Like that, do you?” he asks, almost smugly. 

“I can feel the forest,” she says, awed. 

“You should be able to read the scrolls now. Please, come back and tell me what you learn of them,” he says. “They don’t talk to me and I’d appreciate knowing more about them.” 

She promises to come back, wondering if she could actually be friends with a wizard. The walk back to the farm is different now; she can feel the forest around her, like Emily usually talks about. It’s humbling and a little bit frightening. She goes back to the wizard the next day to confirm that everything actually happened. 

“I know what you’re afraid of,” he tells her. “You needn’t be. You’re perfectly rational. The Junimos are real and they want you to help them.” 

They came from the community center and they might actually become her new friends.


	8. Two Hearts

The dock has always been peaceful. 

Shane sits, beer in hand, and skims his toes over the water. He didn’t feel like going to the saloon; Nicholas’ birthday was coming up, same as Jas’, and the thought of both only brought pain. 

After all, it was his fault Nicholas was dead. 

He drinks to drown the memories. He focuses on the dock instead; Marnie said it’d been there since she was a kid, newly built by farmer Gene. Farmer Flor’s grandfather. He hears footsteps from behind him, clumsy and heavy. They stop, hesitating, and he sighs. 

Yoba, he couldn’t escape her. 

“Up late?” he asks. 

“I can go,” she says unsurely. He hears her kicking her heel against the dirt. He holds out an unopened beer, a peace offering. 

“Here, have a cold one.” An eternity hangs between them. Leave, he thinks. Show me how unwanted and worthless I am. He hears her setting something down with a clunk. The end of a bamboo fishing pole lies on the worn wood of the dock before she plops down with a grunt. She wordlessly takes the beer from him, cracking it open without a hint of her earlier uncertainty. 

“Buh, life,” he says, looking out into the pond. He watches as their reflections ripple with the movements of the fish, blending them together; black and blue mixing with pink and yellow. Absurdly, he wants to talk to her about real shit. He doesn’t know if he wants to chase her away or if he wants her to listen. 

“You ever feel like no matter what you do, you’re destined to fail?” he asks. “Like you’re stuck in some sort of miserable abyss and you’re never gonna see the light of day?” For a long moment passes and she doesn’t say anything. Then, so softly he barely catches it, she says, 

“Yes.” She doesn’t say anything else, opting instead to take several gulps of her beer. He can’t help but think she’s revealed something to him that no one else knows, and the thought sends a thrill through him. Instead of acknowledging it, he chuckles. 

“Fast drinker, huh? Woman after my own heart.” 

“I could probably drink you under the table back in my glory days,” she says. 

“I dunno. I do this a lot,” he says, gesturing with his beer can. “You know, drink.” Her brow furrows at that, and she takes another gulp of her beer. He looks out into the pond. “There’s really nothing else to do: sleep, work, drink. My job sucks; I hate JojaMart, and that bastard Morris.” 

“I can relate,” she says. “I used to work for them.” 

“Yeah?” he says. “I can’t really see you being a wage slave.” 

“Oh, I was worse-I worked for corporate.” He shakes his head, taking another drink. 

“Those bastards,” he says, half in sympathy. 

“We worked in this concrete building with no windows to the outside,” she says. “Instead, there were two windows where the bigwigs could watch us. I spent all day in a cubicle and all night out partying to forget my time in the cubicle.” 

“What made you quit?” he asks. He has a laundry list of reasons he’d quit but he has to think of Jas. He’d work for Pierre full-time if the asshole would hire him for more than a Saturday shift. 

“My grandfather left me a letter,” she said. “With instructions to open it when I got sick of city life. Well, there came a point where I was sick of it. Sick of everything. So I opened it. And he left me the farm.” 

“And you just left?” He couldn’t even imagine wanting to willingly uproot your life. He’d done it once, and remained ever terrified that those roots would find and strangle him. She nods, grinning. 

“Pretty impulsive, huh? But it’s worked out so far.” Jealousy floods his system before he can stop it. She’s so carefree, and bright. Too bright to be snuffed out by the darkness surrounding him. He stands, uneasy on his feet. 

“My liver’s begging me to quit,” he lies: he could keep drinking the rest of the night. He stumbles, falling into the pond and thinks, This is it. Time to drown. Another splash echoes in his ears, and he rolls to see Flor, waist deep in pond water and reaching out for him. Her hand lands on his shoulder, and he focuses past her warmth to look at the stars. 

“The stars look nice from here,” he slurs. She looks up, then back at him. To his utter astonishment, she lies down nest to him, floating in the water. 

“Ooh, look at the moon,” she says. They both float in the water for a few minutes, and he focuses on the night sky, the sound of the water in his ears. He focuses on anything other than the girl floating next to him, close enough to touch. He sits up, water sloshing around his chest and he looks at her, floating and staring up at the sky. 

“Flor?” he says. 

“Yeah?” 

“You ever feel like you can’t crawl out of the abyss? No matter how hard you try?” He hates himself for asking. But he’s been in the dark so long that any sliver of light makes him want to reach out for it, to tell it everything he feels. 

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I do.”

“It feels like the walls crumble every time I reach for them,” he confesses. “Like every time I try to crawl out, my hands just sink into mud and I slide further down, so far that’s it’s just easier to stay at the bottom.” She doesn’t say anything to that, and he doesn’t know if he hates her or appreciates her for that. He shakes his head, wading to the edge of the pond and pulling himself out. He stumbles, falling to the ground twice, before she’s beside him. 

“Come on, buddy,” she says softly. “Let me help you get home.” He hates her for her kindness, and for seeing his vulnerability. He can already imagine the things she must be thinking. 

The smell of her is what he focuses on, despite himself. She smells like pond scum, and beer. But underneath, he smells fresh dirt and dew. His arm, slung around her shoulders, clings to her and he has no idea how it got there. Her hair sticks to his cheek, and he rests his face near her neck. He shushes her when he opens the ranch, and lets her lead her to his room. 

“I’ve got it from here,” he says wearily. 

“Are you-“

“Leave me alone, farmer,” he says, shutting the door in her face. He sighs, fumbling with his clothes and stumbling to his bed. He collapses onto it, burying his face in his pillow, and refuses to remember his nose buried in her hair.


End file.
